


Those Restless Nights

by AParisianShakespearean



Series: Dreams [12]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, On Hiatus, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-20 12:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14260629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParisianShakespearean/pseuds/AParisianShakespearean
Summary: A look into the dynamic that blossoms between Knight Captain Rylen and Cassandra Pentaghast during the events of Inquisition.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While Cullen and Lydia in In Waking Dreams have an epic romance, Rylen and Cassandra have one of their own :) This is how it plays out :)

One evening in Griffon Wing Keep, Rylen stumbled upon the sight of two lasses, poured over a book.

The sight of two lasses wasn’t a rare sight in Griffon Wing Keep. Commander Cullen chose his hardiest soldiers to take up arms in the Approach, and many of them were women. It was unusual however to see two lasses laughing, as the Approach tended to suck away any merriment. Even rarer was it to see who he saw. The Lady Inquisitor, and the Lady Seeker Cassandra.

Rylen liked both women immensely, though some would say he liked all women, no matter what. The Inquisitor was tough, fair, and took nothing less than what she deserved. She claimed she was from Ostwick but he suspected her attitude came right from Starkhaven. In fact, she reminded him a lot of his sister. Perhaps he would have been attracted to her, but frankly he knew Cullen would cut out his heart and bleed for her if she asked. It might have been out of respect for his mate that the attraction never blossomed.

Or, and Rylen was beginning to suspect this more and more as time went on, it was the Lady Seeker.

There was a saying in Starkhaven: when men fell for a lass, they fell hard and fast. Rylen wasn’t one of those men, but the Lady Seeker’s image had gnawed in his mind since the day he met her. Never saw a fiercer woman than the Lady Seeker with her shield, bashing demon after demon. She was no gentle maiden, but frankly, he had never clung to the hips of gentle maidens. He liked ferocity, strength. Wildcats. He made no mistake about it. Lady Cassandra was a wildcat.

The Inquisitor turned toward Rylen, waving at him when she saw him. The Lady Seeker nodded stiffly, taking her book and pulling it close to her chest and shielding it from Rylen’s view. The novel was smut then, he knew it as soon as she hide it, as people always hid their unsavory literature as if it was a big secret people didn’t read it. Not that he minded or cared what the Seeker was reading. Though he did find it intriguing.

“Good to see you Lady Inquisitor, Lady Seeker,” Rylen greeted, bowing slightly. “What brings you two to the top of the keep?”

“Nice and quiet tonight,” the Inquisitor replied. “Good for some girl talk.”

“Ah,” Rylen said. “Sorry to disturb, I’ll be on my way.”

“I was actually about to turn in,” The Inquisitor revealed, idly stretching, “though I think Cassandra was going to stay.”

The Seeker grunted, and Rylen bit back a laugh. The Inquisitor offered her goodnights and farewells till morning, heading down the stairs and leaving Rylen in a very precarious position. Alone, with the Seeker. Alone with a wildcat. The first time he had ever been alone with her. How was he going to play this?

“You really should consider getting a new sword.”

Oh. _That_ was how.

He admitted he was taken aback by the Seeker’s no nonsense, straight to the point comment, but somewhere, deep as it was, he was also very, very struck by how he much he liked that about her. “What’s wrong with my sword?” he asked, experimentally, casting a glance at his hip where he had it strapped. “It’s served me well enough.”

“It’s clearly old,” the Seeker said. “You barely had time to get it out of that varghest before the other one lunged.”

“This sword was forged at Culloden. It will never fail me. It was forged for me. A man who has no trust in his weapons is a man that will lie defeated.”

“Oh,” the Seeker drawled, leaning against the stone wall. “I forgot. You’re from Starkhaven.”

“Aye,” he replied, standing a little straighter, and not bothering to cover his thick and heavy accent. “And proud of it too.”

“There’s not a soul from Starkhaven that’s not proud of their homeland,” the Seeker announced with clear disdain.

“What’s wrong with being proud?” Rylen asked. “More people should be proud.”

“Proud. But not cocky.”

Her book still cradled to her chest, up and down she eyed him. He was smart enough to know what she was insinuating. “I’m not cocky,” he insisted. “On the contrary, I’m quite humble. This place tends to make one quite humble.”

“If you insist on it so much, perhaps you’re not.”

He crossed his arms. “And you’re not proud and perhaps little cocky, Lady Seeker? I see you when you’re out there fighting. Every time another beast falls to your sword, you smile at yourself. Not that you shouldn’t smile at yourself, mind you.”

“Flatterer,” she said to him. Bemused, and perhaps a little happy he had said something so audacious.

He felt bolder. “I do not flatter,” he said. “I speak the truth.”

“And you are also very strange.”

He cocked his head. It was going so well too, or at least, that was his perception of the matter. Seemed the Lady Seeker had a different perception. “How so?” he asked.

“You use templar abilities, but you don’t consider yourself as one. You are scruffy looking and your flirting is mixed with backhanded compliments.”

A smile tugged at his lips. In the list of things, there was one victory. “So. We’ve acknowledged that we are flirting.”

“I am doing no such thing,” she huffed. “And you shouldn’t be either. Flissa will be upset.”

“Ah, so you’re versed in barracks gossip,” Rylen said, leaning across the wall. “But apparently you don’t know we’re old news. She broke up with me. She wanted to devote her life to the chantry.” Not that he wouldn’t have broken up with her anyway. Flissa was lovely and all, but a little fickle.

“I don’t have time for this, you know.”

“Neither do I. That’s why I make time for things I want.” He motioned toward her book. “Like that. You make time to do the things you want. What kind of book is that anyway?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It is smut then.”

She turned an angry red crimson, holding the book even closer. “No shame,” he said. “Really.”

She looked at her feet, too embarrassed to look at him, too embarrassed to run. He could salvage this, he thought. Digging in the recesses of his mind, he remembered a poem Flissa read to him once not too long ago, before she decided to forgo smutty literature and other such matters for the chantry. Clearing his throat, Rylen announced into the night air and to Casssandra, “his lips on mine speak words not voiced. A prayer.”

“Is that—?”

“Chant of the Amatus. Yes,” he said, feeling the slight victory at her surprised tone before he continued with what he remembered. “Which travels down my spine like flames that shatter night. His eyes reflect the Maker’s stars…”

“How on earth did you remember it?”

“I read things, and I keep them in my mind for future reference,” he said. “You don’t keep things in your mind, to remember them later?”

“Perhaps I’ll keep this night to remember.”

They drifted, closer to each other. Close enough to kiss. He fancied a kiss from her, he—

“Rylen,” Cassandra said, lowly and thickly. He liked the way she said his name. A thousand people could say it a thousand ways, but none of them would ever have Cassandra’s heady lilt. None of them would have Cassandra’s lust.

“Lady Seeker,” Rylen murmured, hearing the sound of the book she had been cradling so close falling to the floor. “I—”

Arms snaked around his neck. Gloved fingers curled in unruly brown hair as instinctively, his hands rested at her waist. What would he say? He could have said anything in the world, like how her eyes sparkled, or how she made him want to write poems about her strength and prowess in battle, but he said none of that, because the Lady Seeker had something else in mind that kept his lips occupied.

Well. Talking was usually overrated anyway. Especially when there was kissing to be had.

Strong and demanding, Cassandra’s kisses were like her ferocity with a sword and when they emerged, if they ever emerged from their kiss, Rylen knew he would see a smug smile, just like how he always saw a smug smile when an enemy fell dead to her feet. Strength was in the way she toyed with his hair, brought him against the wall of the keep and kept him pinned. Her body’s sinews coiled to his and clung to his frame, just as their lips met and part. She did nothing halfway, kissing included. Neither did Rylen. He gripped her hips and brought them close to his, and whether it was him or her that began to grind and sway, he didn’t know. He hummed into their kiss, and her answer was to drift to the part of his neck the Inquisition uniform did not cover. She nipped and left patterns with her lips. She held him and moaned at the feel of his unshaven face. And though he did not want to be crude, not that night anyway, he couldn’t help it when she moaned for him, and his cock sprung to life. He wasn’t sure if she knew that or not as she continued to sway the two. He just knew that Cassandra kissed fucking good. He knew every day he didn’t have her kiss, would be a bad fucking day.

“Lass,” Rylen muttered when Cassandra parted.

“Captain.”

He was right. There it was, that smug grin. He couldn’t wait to kiss it off. “This night…”

“I think there will be a lot more to remember.”

Her eyes. They drifted right toward his cock.

“Seeker…”

But she was grabbing his hand, and he was a slave to follow those swaying hips. 

To her bedroom. 


	2. Chapter 2

In truth, Rylen didn’t expect things with the Lady Seeker to progress as quickly. He barely had time to recover from her kiss when the door to her room slammed shut and she pinned him against the wall, capturing his mouth once more. Fingers slinked into his wild and unruly brown hair. He brushed it that morning, and brushed it again that afternoon, and when finally it managed to somewhat stay put, this woman saw the need to ruffle it again. Not that he minded. At all.

“It has, been a while,” she muttered, breath caressing his lips as she parted. “I—”

“We don’t have to do this you know.”

“No. I want to. We’re going to do this. Clearly. Unless you—“

“Oh, I do,” he assured, resting his hand on her slim hips. They were still wearing their chest plates. To pry it off, feel her skin…

He cleared his throat. He would lose himself before it even began. “I just thought this would take some time, before we reached this point.”

“So you always knew you’d get me to bed?”

“Uh, no,” he said, quickly, hoping her raised eyebrows would lower. “I mean, I admired you, I thought you were pretty, and…”

“Men typically don’t think women like me are ‘pretty,’ Knight Captain.”

“Men are mostly dolts anyway.”

He was grateful he didn’t have to come up with anymore poems on the fly about her eyes, lovely figure, or her prowess in battle. He was sure he could, but his engorged cock and the lady’ steel grip on him would make the matter difficult. Before he could say anything else, Cassandra was kissing him again, pulling him from the wall, and leading him to the edge of the bed. This was the part he always dreaded when he was with another. Inevitably an utterly mood killing conversation about preventing pregnancy would occur, but he had to bring it up.

“Lady Seeker…”

“Knight Captain.”

She pushed him on the bed, sending a thrilling jolt up his spine. He became harder, if that was even possible. His cock was uncomfortably still trapped in his breeches as she eased herself on top of him. So began the sensual sway of her hips, grinding against him and making him moan.

“Cassandra,” he said, dispensing with titles. “I—”

“Are you worried about protection?” she asked. “It’s not a matter of concern.”

“You stand by the Inquisitor lass. I don’t want anything—"

She snorted. “I’m too old.”

She wasn’t a new spring maiden yes, she had a maturity and gravity about her. She was of the earth and grounded, and perhaps that was one of the reasons why he was attracted to her so. But she certainly wasn’t well into maturity.

He was too curious. “How old are you Lady Seeker?” he asked, without a hint of mischievousness.

“Old enough.”

He figured to offer something in return. “I am thirty and three.”

Her eyes narrowed in an expression he could only assume was mild annoyance.

“Thirty and seven,” she offered at last.

He chuckled. It didn’t bother him a whit that she was older. In fact, that made him strangely more aroused.

“Still,” he said, shifting his legs. “I should tell you that my mother had me when she was a little older.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t be a gentleman,” she admitted. “But you had to bring it up, didn’t you?”

“If you are so eager for someone who isn’t a gentleman, I can dispense with the act.”

“No, do not!” She ordered, pushing him down and sending him to his back, his arm laid on either side of him. She liked to be in control. How compelling it was.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Tomorrow morning I’ll take the tea and that will be that, if you’re worried so much. And before you ask,” she shimmied her hips again. She must have known how much he adored that. “I do not have the Orlesian disease.”

“Neither do I,” he promised, stifling another laugh.

“Good. Let’s get on with it then.”

“Hm. ‘Let’s get on with it’ you say? Now now lass, it must be more romantic than that. I do not ‘just get on with it,’ as you say. This is an experience. A moment to treasure.”

“Experience this.”

With that she slid off of him onto the floor and hooked her fingers over the band of his breeches. She yanked them off, making his cock spring free, and though he was thankful for that, he stared, puzzled as her hands kneaded his thighs, nails lightly digging into the skin. He kicked off his boots and threw off his tunic, waiting for what he presumed was her mouth. Her mouth. He licked his lips in wait. He wasn’t used to this sort of thing. He may not have clung to the hips of gentle maidens, but in his times before, he was the one that was expected to direct matters. Even when he asked, offered to teach even, he was always the one on top. He couldn’t even remember the last time a woman took his cock in her mouth. Not that he expected it at all…or even fantasized about it. But as Cassandra gazed at him, lowly and seductively, and gently traced his shaft with one careful finger as her other hand rubbed his thigh, he began to feel very, very hot.

“Uh…”

Her ministrations stopped. “Is something wrong?” She asked. “Are you uncomfortable with this?”

“No,” he answered, hoping he wasn’t too quick. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem confused.”

“Well, this hasn’t gone as how I imagined,” he admitted. “You…you are a very surprising woman. You’ve surprised me since I first laid eyes on you that day by the rift, but…oh Maker.”

He trailed off as soon as her hand gripped around him, pushing the foreskin down. A bead of cum leaked from his tip. Her thumb circled at it, wiping it away.

“Maker…lass… _ohhh_ ….”

“Oh!” She removed her hand, suddenly, everything in him screaming in protest as soon as she did. “Knight Captain! Is this…I’m sorry if I’m too bold, but…”

“Lass. Cass,” he said, smirking at the unintentional rhyme as he put his hand on her shoulders, caressed her arms. They were so strong, from carrying a sword and a shield. Strong around him. He didn’t think she would ever let anything from her grasp she did not want to lose.

“No,” he said. “I promise. You were not too bold.”

“Has this gone too far? Have things progressed too quickly?”

“If you feel that it has, we can stop.”

“I don’t want to, but…” She groaned. “You should know, I don’t usually do things like this.”

The unexpected tenderness that followed—her hand, tracing his jawline, eyes studying the tattoos on his nose and chin before glancing downward to his chest and arms, sweeping to the other tattoo that he had on his left arm.

“No others,” he told her as she continued to regard them, his hand gently kneading her back. “In case you were curious.”

“The templars couldn’t have let you get them.”

She was certainly right. The chantry, full of old cogs had strict policies, but Rylen was no longer bound by those rules. “When Cullen offered me a job, I decided to get them,” he told Cassandra. “At first it was just this one.” He motioned to his arm band tattoo, done in dark brown ink.

“Why the other?”

“Well. All my life, Lady Cassandra, others have been quick to point out that my nose is shaped like a beak and I had a pronounced chin. It was best to embrace it.”

“I can admire that.”

“As I admire many things about you.”

There was a way her eyes held a strange sort of glow when she was praised, a glow Rylen longed to see more of.

“Such as?” she asked, blinking demurely.

He leaned in, taking her earlobe between his lips. He relished the moan she made, breathless against him.

“I’ll have to save them for later,” he whispered. “Now, I…”

“I want this,” she muttered.

Her breathing hitched as he glanced down. He lost his arousal during their conversation, but her heady moans made him spring back to life. Cassandra. She was an enigma, a fierce warrior, and a work of art.

No more distractions now. No more talk.

He smirked. “Then it looks like we’re doing this.”

He kissed the crook of her neck. He kissed her collarbones and he kissed the tops of her breast that her tunic left uncovered before she yanked it off. Though the transition was a bit awkward, as she had to stand to take off her breeches and boots, there was nothing awkward at all in the way she lead him to his back, hands trailing along his chest. He gulped at the lovely sight, gazing at her strong and defined abdomen and core before traveling upward to her breasts. His hands gripped her muscular thighs before taking ahold of shapely hips. Her sex was over his cock, rubbing and moving in a soft prelude. He wet his fingers.

“Rylen…”

“Lass…”

“You know,” she muttered, breath hitching as he began his motions to her clit, circling it with his forefinger. “I rather… _mhmmm_ ….Like being called that.”

“Well then lass, you may never get me to stop.”

It was hard to tell with the lighting so dim, but Rylen could have sworn that his lady was blushing. Even as he twirled his fingers against her clit. And even though she continued to gently rock against him, in one moment of clarity, Rylen knew that even though the Western Approach was hell, he found a heaven.

She came, shuddering above him against his fingers, and he couldn’t help but take them to her pooling wetness. He brought them to his lips, tasting the salt and musk of her arousal. Her gaze was transfixed to him, and as she positioned herself, their eyes did not once waver from each other. Not even when her walls clenched around him, and the world turned white hot, bright, and fucking good.

She all but slammed into him, and it was frantic and perhaps a bit rushed that it reminded him of the wayward and passionless trysts of his youth. And while Rylen was not yet quite sure what he was yet with Cassandra, whether it was going to be nothing more than one night or something ongoing, he knew whatever they had was not without passion. Would they have spoken for what felt like an hour before if there was no passion? What of other matter? Love.  
No. No love. Only passion. He couldn’t dare think of love. Not with everything.

Even so, he made a choice then, ramifications be damned. This night with her, it would not ever be without passion. And neither would no other times he would be with her. He simply had to put it out of his mind that passion made it hurt more.

He grasped her hips, and she understood he wanted her to slow. There was a sharp intake of breath from her lips, same as he. At this slower pace she felt every inch of him, and he threw his head back, moaning and not even bothering to stifle the noises she drew from him. Let them all hear, he thought. They were in the Approach, with varghests, Venatori, and darkspawn. He was lucky he didn’t die yet, and he would be luckier still if he left the place with his full health and limbs still attached. Matters of decorum, such as keeping quiet during a night of passion, simply wasn’t on his mind. Nor was it on Cassandra’s, his lass’s. How thrilling she was.

She took his hands and brought them to her breasts. They were firm in his hands, and she cried as he lightly experimented, pinching and squeezing her nipples. Up he went, taking them in his warm mouth as still she moved. His fingers drifted to her clit and with only a few circular motions she came again, shuddering against him and coiling her arms to keep steady. Feeling her own end made his own nigh. She increased her speed, going back to the more frantic pace of their beginning. Her breath was against his neck, caressing him, their lips touching but not really kissing. He muttered lass, one last time, pressure mounting, building.

“I’m going—”

“Inside. I want you in—”

Inside. Maker. The intimacy in that, the trust, the—

“Please.”

Please, she said, pleaded. He couldn’t deny that plea. He couldn’t deny her eyes. Did he see it? Did he dare to think that—

No. No. Focus on the now. He would only focus on the now.

He came in her arms and she welcomed it with a press of a million kisses. They kept their connection, even as he moved her to her back. And when he at last removed himself from her, he saw the small, but subtle flash of disappointment.

He waited for her to stand and gather her clothes. It was what usually happened. She waited however, longer than most waited.

She reached for his hand. “I…you…”

He kissed her fingertips. “Stay.”

She didn’t hide her surprise. “You want me to stay?”

“It’s what they do in the novels, yes?”

Her lips twitched in a subtle smile. “Yes.”

“Stay with me then. As long as you like.”

He got up, led her under the covers. She did what he asked with a sort of incredulous amusement, but the last straw was apparently when he wrapped an arm around her.

“You can’t be serious.”

He retracted. “What? Don’t like it?”

“No, it’s just….this wasn’t anything I expected.”

“It wasn’t for me either, as I’ve said,” he admitted. “But I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

She didn’t even bother hiding that smile. And though she didn’t say it, he knew she wouldn’t have had it another way either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by the way, "the orlesian disease" is syphilis. In renaissance europe there was a big outbreak and it was referred to as "the french disease," so that's where that came from here :)

**Author's Note:**

> Updates will probably be fairly irregular, but I do love this dynamic! :)


End file.
